


The Deserter

by QueenEchidna



Series: Achievement Hunter Minecraft [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: AU Study, Character Study, CreativeMode!Ryan, Minecraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEchidna/pseuds/QueenEchidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan Haywood was the youngest in a line of Creators and heir to the Haywood regime, the last Creative Kingdom, but he was confused and did not approve of his parent's ways.</p><p>[A 1-hour writing study of Ryan in preparation for my Achievement Hunter Minecraft AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deserter

**Author's Note:**

> My Minecraft AU in which Ryan is a Creator as apposed to a Survivor.  
> I dun'know, just my dumb ideas.  
> (Also features AdventureMode!Ray)  
> Enjoy ^-^

Waking up, for Ryan at least, was not the same as he had been told Geoff’s had been, or Gavin’s, or Lindsay’s, or Jack’s; hardship trotted along behind his companions since the very beginning of their lives, and they were all lucky to be alive to the day though with their fair shares of bruises and scars. But for him it was different, he wasn’t born into the jungle, wasn’t left to his own devices, did not learn how to fight, because, he assumed, he was not a survivor. 

He had been born in ivory cloaks along swaying golden curtains, the lights of the day streaming through the windows in a display of gentle rays rather than the harsh radiation that bombarded those doomed to live in the desert. He remembers looking out of those windows, past his father and mother and older siblings, all the gold and silver reflected the light into his eyes, and it hurt, but pain was something new to him, and with nothing to compare it to, he felt almost nothing.

But nothing hurt as much as when he finally emerged from his chambers, confused, newborn; he wandered the grounds trapped between the towering stone walls upon which men and women dressed in shimmering armor over which was draped velvet and gold cloths, they smiled down at him. All the people seemed quite kind to him, all the people; some flying, most walking, and another few hunched over carrying overfull bags on their backs, those few were dirty and dressed in near-rags, but Ryan was too naïve to wonder about the difference.

His siblings would bully him, he never understood, and learned to blame himself, surely he evoked their wrath. And while language was something foreign to him, the phrases repeated were burned into his subconscious, and later he would come to despise them. _”Favorite of mother, favorite of father; are you happy you’ve ruined the family?” “Of course the royal blood would flow to a runt!” “You will never be my king.”_

What a king is, was beyond Ryan, and though he cried, his mother promised there was nothing to fret, and he would be a great _king_ one day, whatever that meant.

He was always dressed in white, his tunics lined with blue and gold trim, but as he grew he found the comfortable feel of his oldest brother’s kilt the most pleasing, and along with one of his father’s old dress jackets, he found a suitable outfit; his mother chastised him for the improper dress, but being young and confused, he did not want to listen. 

Flying was something he was eager to learn; his mother could, as could his father, and the members of the royal court, and some citizens, and so he was excited. He learned he could float soon after he was born, but this was going to be something new!

After he accomplished the basics of self-propelled flight, he did not hesitate to _zip_ and _zoom_ around the kingdom, _his_ kingdom, as he had been taught; yes, he knew that at the time, he was royalty, the heir to one of the last Creative kingdoms, the Haywood Reign, and Ryan knew he was a pureblooded Creator: he was special. 

But he was not brainless, not like his siblings, he studied the people of the kingdom, how they felt about him father’s reign, and about him. Consistently, he inquired to his mother and father as to the state of the ragged vagabond-esq people whom he had seen carrying materials as pack mules; but he was always denied, told he should be studying his history books, books he had already memorized. So on his own he chose to learn, they were a different race of people, could not fly, nor alter the terrain around them: Adventurers. He saw them being used as slave and became confused; why would people be used as slaves? And why were they only Adventurers?

A hand struck the side of his face and sent him to the floor, “Stop inquiring son, you are getting too inquisitive for a prince.” It was the first time he’d been hit, and while he’d seen the action being followed by crying or recessing, Ryan did not feel tears nor the need to hide in himself; he was angry. He was the prince, goddammit! Why would they not tell him!?

Nowadays, Ryan remembers flying down to the run-down mills where the Adventurers lived, learning that his grandfather’s father had enslaved their people, originally claiming that their species would die out before their time, that working for the king would protect them. How could someone believe that? Ryan wonders to this day; and why would his ancestors lead an innocent peoples into that lie?

Setting free the Adventurers was a mistake, not to his morals, but to how he had learned to live his life; his parents were furious, the citizens were outraged, they hit him and screamed at him, ignoring the indignant cries of the young Creator. They very literally tossed him from the kingdom, exiled, from his own home, for doing nothing more than what was right. His father sent for him, however, wanted him home knowing their reign would end if Ryan were to die, though in frenzied logic and tampered emotions, Ryan refused and word quickly spread of the person who left his kingdom to its fate, the young Creator prince; The Deserter. 

Ryan, regardless of the work he was so dedicated to, never got a hold on his Creative abilities, not all of them, he could fly, but he was never taught to render himself impervious, now victim to those monsters that plagued the world he was then newly subject to; he experienced being shot by skeletons, arrows leaving deep scars in his skin. Zombies tried to eat him, spiders tried to end him, Endermen tried to mutilate him, and he was terrified. This world was not the one he grew up in, and he flew, he flew and flew until he could not even see the forest where he knew, somewhere, his father’s empire reigned hard.

Time passed, Ryan grew, tried to teach himself, but it was hard to read ancient scriptures that decorated ancient sandstone walls whilst he was fighting off zombies; he did not learn munch. He built houses for those who needed it, young survivors who barely knew where they were; as a new age came in and word was heard of the Haywood Regime’s demise, the last Creative kingdom had fallen and a new era has dawned. 

Ryan watched these survivors do their best, and he thought it was amazing; they would work nonstop for days until they finally had a house to keep their bed in and they could collapse in exhaustion for barely 12 hours before they were up and working again. Farming, building, mining, protecting themselves; they were fantastic. He remembers wishing he could be like them; intuitive, brilliant, _fully mortal_. But he knew he wasn’t, but that did not stop him from being tired; he was always tired. 

_._

When he met Ray it was… _testy_ at first; they found out he was a Creator when he was shot, and began to bleed dark gold, dulled by the pale night light, Ray had been furious, lashed out, tried to drive his fists into Ryan’s face, tried to slash gashes over his torso with his wooden hoe, previously a gag object he carried around for fun, turned a dangerous weapon. Jack was the one that grabbed him, and Gavin stood between the two when Ryan tried to lunge back but was restrained by Geoff. 

Ray screamed at him, cursed, and cried, Jack never let go, took the other’s jagged nails and frenzied punches to his arms and chest, while Geoff kept a firm grip on Ryan’s arms, “You! Your people destroyed mine!” Ray hollered, free of Jack’s grip but doing nothing more than jutting an accusing finger at the Creator, who stood there unmoving, scowling at the Adventurer.

They glared at each other, whenever they were forced within the same 3 meters; Ray did not hesitate to let his derogatory slurs slip when Ryan was nearby, running into his shoulder very purposefully when they passed, and “accidentally” knocking him over. There was a constant venom that flowed between the both of them, a poison that Jack could not use reason against, nor Gavin a lighthearted joke, not even Michael threatening to gut them both would pull them from this blood-deep millennia-old rivalry; a rivalry they both knew was not entirely their own.

Hardship followed them all, and soon the ancient versus dissipated, Ray forgetting his vengefulness, Ryan forgetting who he is; it works out, and neither Jack nor Michael, who find themselves worrying about the two, ever bring it up; they keep things peaceful as long as possible.


End file.
